Chương 227: 38. Those Who Stay, Those Who Leave 1

"Go, Lei Lian." Ignicia said it.

"Close out the tower. Light it." The moment those four words fell, it was as if a whip had cracked across the base of Drake Tower — everyone moved one beat faster, all at once. Lei Lian didn't say another word. She tucked the route board under her arm and turned to leave. Her pace was fast, but there was no panic in it — only the crisp, decisive rhythm of someone measuring every footfall against a deadline. Out on the platform, the mid-sized blue dragon rumbled low.

It didn't take flight again; it only lowered its body, its gold-blue slit-pupils catching the firelight from the tower and the distant sea, as if it too understood exactly what was about to happen to this high spire. I stood there, the empty thunder-bomb pouch still in my hands, suddenly unsure whether to throw it away or keep it as a souvenir. On second thought — never mind. I already had more than enough catastrophes in my life worth commemorating. This bag didn't need to join the list.

"What are you still standing there for?" Ignicia had already stepped out from behind the long table, tossing a thin marking charcoal aside as she went, and lifted her eyes to me. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unmistakable undertone: if you have the leisure to stand around daydreaming, I have no objection to finding you something to do.

"I'm contemplating life," I said.

"Do it after you survive."

"You've been using that line a little too often lately."

"Because you've been almost dying a little too often lately."... Wonderful. Even her sarcasm was efficient. She didn't spare me another glance. She pointed out two couriers and three garrison squads, breaking down the final withdrawal sequence on the spot. Orders came out one after another, paring away the manpower, equipment, and firepower still left in and around the tower, layer by layer, like a blade shaving wood.

"Once the last team on the observation deck is down, seal the upper iron doors."

"Second-tier ballista positions hold to the last possible moment — cover the western retreat line."

"Check the heart pillar's fuses twice. I don't want to hear anyone tell me the fire didn't catch."

"Relay plates and signal crystal-lamps move out first. Smash the positioning rings. If it can't be carried, don't leave it whole."

"Reset the blast-stones along the inner face of the main pillar. Leave only three outer support points — just enough to bring it down toward the sea." Listening to her, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were arranging the affairs of someone who was still alive. No — not a feeling. That was exactly what we were doing. Drake Tower hadn't fallen yet. It was still standing there — tall enough to be an eyesore, solid enough to make you believe it could watch the sea for another ten years.

But from the moment Ignicia said close out the tower, light it, it had already died. Everything happening now was just a matter of choosing the death that would cost the enemy the most. I was sent to run the last few signals between the tower's interior and exterior. Not exactly hard. Not exactly simple, either. Simple, because the content was usually just: has this group pulled out yet, how many crossbowmen are left, are the burn points set.

Hard, because every single answer decided whether one of our own would still be inside when the charges went off. I ran to the western platform first. It was already piled high with everything stripped from inside the tower: relay plates, signal crystal-lamps, half-dismantled ballista arms, coiled rope ladders, crate after crate of blast-stones. The soldiers were soaked in sweat and ash, every face carrying the taut, wound-tight look of people too exhausted to stop and too frightened to slow down.

Some carried gear down from inside; some hauled it further out; others simply took hammers to the metal fixtures too heavy to move, beating them out of shape. I watched one garrison soldier smash a bronze positioning ring, base and all, muttering a curse under his breath as it finally gave way. The tone wasn't angry. It sounded more like an apology to an old friend.

"Second-tier ballista?" I grabbed a soldier running past with a coil of rope over his shoulder.

"Two teams left!" He didn't even pause to catch his breath, his voice pitched loud enough that even time itself couldn't miss it.

"General Lei says they don't pull out until the very end!" I nodded and turned toward the heart pillar. Drake Tower's heart pillar sat at the deepest point of the inner structure. Before tonight, I'd never given towers much thought — a tower stands because that's what towers do. Tonight I learned otherwise. A high tower, like a person, has a spine hidden somewhere in its belly. Find the right place to break it, and no matter how tall the thing is, it kneels.

The inner passage was far darker than outside, the stone steps alive with running feet, the air thick with gunpowder, sweat, and a dry, acrid heat with no obvious source. Several engineers crouched around the heart pillar, laying blast-stones with the urgency of people racing a fuse they hadn't lit yet. Some packed powder charges into the load-bearing joints. Some measured out fuse lengths. One had already marked the fracture lines directly onto the pillar. Lei Lian was already there when I arrived.

Her outer armor still carried the black soot from our return through the Bottleneck, a faint smoke-stain along one side of her face. But she stood as steady as a spear driven into the ground, bent slightly over the pillar's stress diagram, occasionally raising a hand to adjust a mark, or nudging a blast-stone half an inch inward with the toe of her boot.

"Her Highness wants a progress report," I said, walking up. Lei Lian didn't look up.

"Two more quarter-hours. Once the last team clears the observation deck, we can seal the heart." She said it, then seemed to remember I was still there, and glanced over.

"How have you not been blown to death by the wind yet?"

"I've been rather looking forward to that myself." She apparently filed that under "irrelevant noise" and turned toward the stairs.

"Follow."

"Again?"

"You're a runner now." I have come to sincerely believe that the most terrifying thing in this world isn't being promoted — it's being promoted with zero pay and an ever-growing list of duties specifically designed to kill you early. I had no choice but to follow her up. The higher we climbed, the louder the wind grew. At Drake Tower's upper levels, "windy" no longer covered it — it felt like the entire night had gathered outside to sharpen knives against the stone.

Passing wooden ladders, stone steps, narrow windows, flag platforms, observation slits, I kept catching glimpses of garrison troops still withdrawing, hugging the walls as they went, moving fast enough that you'd think the tower itself might shake them loose if they slowed. The second-tier ballista positions still held their last two teams. They barely qualified as teams anymore — each held less than half its original number. One had a makeshift bandage on his arm. Another still bled from the forehead.

One had a shoulder-plate scorched black at the corner. And still, every one of them kept their siege ballista braced in its firing port, eyes locked on the darkness and fire beyond the sea. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. One of them saw Lei Lian and snapped straight.

"General!"

"How many volleys left in you?" Lei Lian asked. The crossbowman glanced sideways — the look of a man weighing whether his remaining bolts or his remaining lifespan would run out first.

"Three, at most."

"Pull back after two," Lei Lian said.

"Leave the third for the enemy to dream about." The crossbowman grinned.

"Understood." Standing there, I found myself thinking — not for the first time — that the people of this Dragon Kingdom could be remarkably irritating in certain respects. Not because they weren't afraid to die. But because even when they turned death into a punchline, they still somehow meant every word of it. Further up was the last observation level. Only three spotters and one old signals sergeant remained. Every high window stood open, the wind pouring through hard enough to flatten paper.

Distance boards and log sheets were pinned down under anything heavy; the lamps sat shielded in custom half-covers, as if determined to keep performing a little longer. One young spotter was calling out a final set of ranges toward the sea.

"Enemy vanguard fire still burning, but the rear tower ships have begun cutting the chain links—" A gust of wind cut the rest of it off, choking him mid-word. The old sergeant snapped his log board shut. He looked up, saw Lei Lian, and understood at once.

"Time?" he asked. Lei Lian nodded.

"Down." The sergeant wasted no breath. He flung the last record board backward without looking.

"You heard her! Eyes off! Move!" All three spotters moved like they'd been waiting the entire night for exactly that word. They grabbed what they could and bolted. I caught the thrown board on reflex — it still carried the last set of enemy advance distances and fire-spread directions, ink smeared by the wind but legible enough to tighten something in my chest. Because the numbers were still moving forward. No fire burns forever. And as long as the enemy still breathed, they would keep coming.

By the time we dropped back to the second tier, the last two ballista teams had finally begun their own withdrawal. No heroic shouts. No one turned back to cry hold to the last. They simply stripped whatever mechanisms could still be carried, smashed what couldn't, and — dragging injured legs, propping each other up — filed down the stairs, squad after squad. The great ballistae stayed mounted in their firing ports: two old beasts with their teeth deliberately knocked out, left to die alongside the tower.

On the way down, Lei Lian loaded me with two more verbal orders, one fuse-check signal, and a wooden tag reading north side clear — cleared to fire, until I half-suspected I wasn't an ambassador at all, but a waiter this tower had personally hired for its last meal. By the time we made it back down, Ignicia was already standing at the temporary command line at the plaza's outer edge.

The last mobile garrison units in the harbor were falling back toward the inner city, rank by rank — hoofbeats, shouted orders, wagon wheels, and the occasional distant cannon blast, all tangled together until the night sounded like a drum scorched hollow from the inside. She stood dead center of that drumhead, back straight, unbent even by the wind. I handed over the record board and the wooden tag together.

"Observation deck fully evacuated," I said.

"Second-tier ballista crews are down. North side confirms clear to fire." Ignicia scanned the board, then looked to Lei Lian, who had just stepped out through the tower doors.

"How many left?" Lei Lian answered without hesitation.

"All interior work crews are out. Final seal team — six, with me. Fuses are set. The heart pillar and all three support points are primed. The moment the western barricade clears, we can light it at will."

"West side?" A courier sprinted up immediately.

"West barricade team has pulled back! Last transport crew is off the line!" Ignicia didn't give the order right away. She looked up at Drake Tower first. It was still standing — tall enough that it seemed not to understand it would split in half within moments. Most of the lights along its height had already gone dark; only a few stubborn glows remained where no one had time to fully strip them, like the last shallow breaths caught in a dying man's chest.

Wind curled around the tower, carrying the reek of char and spent powder off the sea. Strange — I suddenly felt like I should breathe more quietly. Not out of fear. Just that some things, right before the end, make you want to go still without quite knowing why. Lei Lian stepped forward, her voice level.

"Your Highness. Your order." Ignicia's gaze stayed on the tower a moment longer. Then she finally drew it back.

"Seal the outer ring."

"Yes."

"Everyone falls back behind the second line."

"Yes."

"Once it's lit, no one goes back for anything inside." Her voice sank, degree by degree, cold as ice pressed over banked coals.

"Tonight, being alive matters more than being whole." Something hollowed out in my chest at that. Because I knew she meant what was left inside the tower. And I knew, just as well, that tonight the sentence applied to people too. Lei Lian asked nothing further. She named the six members of the final seal team at once, then picked up the ignition staff herself. I'd seen the thing before — unremarkable, not much different from any standard military torch-wand.

In her hands right now, it looked less like a tool and more like a blade meant for a farewell. She glanced once at the blue dragon crouched at the plaza's edge. The dragon rumbled low, as if answering. Then Lei Lian turned and led the six of them back through Drake Tower's doors. For a moment, almost no one in the plaza spoke. Everyone was retreating — past the barricades, past the inner wall line, back behind the second position Ignicia had drawn. Some still supported the wounded.

Some still hauled the last crates dragged from the tower. Some, once they'd stopped moving, couldn't help looking back. I looked too. I couldn't not. It wasn't just a tower. It was the eye of Isca Apubra harbor. It was the spine of the entire district, the thing you looked up and saw no matter where you stood. Until today, it had been the thing everyone quietly assumed would simply always be there. And now, we were all standing at a careful distance, waiting for it to die. I turned to look at Ignicia.

She wasn't looking at me, or at anyone. Only at the doors of Drake Tower.

"How long do you think Lei Lian will take?" I asked quietly.

"She won't take long," Ignicia said.

"... That's oddly reassuring."

"She'll be precise enough to give you nightmares afterward." That, I believed. Less than a quarter-hour later, a small light flared to life just inside Drake Tower's main doors. Not an explosion. Just the glow of a fuse catching — small, almost anticlimactic, and somehow enough to lock every spine in sight rigid. The light flickered once, then vanished. And then— Lei Lian burst out with the last six behind her. She was the last one through.

Almost the instant her boot cleared the threshold, a deep, muffled concussion rolled up from somewhere deep in the tower — like something enormous had just snapped one of its own bones. Lei Lian didn't look back. She threw herself forward and down.

"Down!" — I couldn't tell if it was her voice or someone else's, but the next instant I was already flat on the ground, dragged and shoved there by the people around me. The second explosion dwarfed the first. BOOM— It wasn't simply a detonation. It was the tower's entire interior being wrenched open from within. Blinding lines of fire tore through the tower's midsection.

Then the inner structure twisted, as if some vast, invisible hand had seized it and wrung it sideways — stone, timber, metal supports, and fire all erupting outward through the fractures together. A third explosion. A fourth. Each one drove deeper into the already-leaning heart pillar, until it finally gave way completely. I lifted my head in time to watch the tower truly begin to fall. It wasn't a clean break.

It was slow — slow enough to trace every collapsing gallery, every crumbling wall, every crack spidering open across its face. It leaned first toward the sea, like someone who had stood too long finally agreeing to bend. Then the whole midsection buckled, and stone and burning timber came down in cascading layers. The roar swallowed the entire harbor. The falling mass slammed into the outer ground and half the defense platform, and the earth itself shuddered.

A column of dust, pulverized stone, and burning debris erupted outward like a grey-black wave laced with sparks. Out on the water, the enemy's still-burning fires seemed to flare brighter in answer — one blaze reflecting another. Drake Tower fell. It really fell. I had known from the start that it would. Seeing it happen anyway still felt like something had been gouged out of my chest. Not because I'd grown attached to a building.

Because from this moment on, the last thing in Isca Apubra that had still looked like holding on was gone. The plaza went quiet in a way that was almost frightening. Even the people who moments ago had been running messages, hauling gear, falling back — all of them seemed to have had half a breath knocked out of them by that sound. Then Ignicia was the first to stand. She brushed the ash from her cloak, her voice level to the point of cruelty.

"Lei Lian."

"Here." Lei Lian rose from the ground, ash streaked across her face and shoulders, a raw graze along her right temple — standing straighter than anyone else.

"Well done." Three words. Nothing more. But as Lei Lian bowed her head to accept it, I saw her fingers tighten around the ignition staff for one brief instant — as if those three words had been exactly enough. Ignicia turned at once and moved straight into the next sequence of orders.

"Tower is closed out. Second line, full withdrawal."

"Western defense — fold into the inner city line."

"All remaining transport crews follow the ambassadorial delegation's route. No one turns back."

"Harbor core — abandoned." One after another, too fast to leave anyone time for a second glance at the ruin. I looked anyway. Where Drake Tower had stood was now a vast, smoking ruin, still burning. Every so often a half-charred beam gave way further into the fire with a sharp crack. It no longer looked like a place where a tower had stood — it looked like the skeleton of some enormous beast that a god had stepped on and left behind.

Wind rolled off the wreckage, carrying lime dust, charred wood, and the particular spent stink of gunpowder burned all the way down. I remembered, suddenly, standing at the top of that tower not so long ago, looking down at the Bottleneck, the enemy ships, the whole harbor burning. Looking back now, all of it — the height, the wind, every flight memory I would have gladly thrown back up — had gone down with the tower. I was still staring when someone spoke beside me.

"A great loss?" I turned. It was the princess. I hadn't noticed her arrive. The night wind lifted the ends of her hair and the edge of her cloak. Firelight moved in her eyes, but didn't soften them — not even slightly. I thought about it.

"Not much of a pity, really," I said.

"More like..."

"Like what?"

"Like someone finally tore their own front door off its hinges, then announced to the world that, starting tonight, they won't be leaving the light on for guests anymore." She glanced at me. A very short glance. Then, unexpectedly, she let out a low sound — something between a laugh and the noise a person makes when they've just decided your choice of words deserves a smack.

"That mouth of yours," she said.

"Occasionally, it isn't entirely useless." At any other time, that might have barely qualified as a compliment. Right now, it was probably the closest thing to a promotion and a raise I was going to get all night. I looked at the ruins and let out a long breath that still tasted of ash. Drake Tower had fallen.